


Presenting the Case

by IntuitivelyFortuitous



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen, Kolinahr (Star Trek), M/M, Post-Mission, SPOCK JUST LISTEN TO YOUR FRIENDS, please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntuitivelyFortuitous/pseuds/IntuitivelyFortuitous
Summary: When a friend tells you that he might be going through a ritual attempting to purge himself of all emotion, you've got to make sure that's what he really wants to do.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43
Collections: Spones Reverse Big Bang (2020-2021)





	Presenting the Case

**Author's Note:**

> Our submission to the Spones Reverse Big Bang 2020-2021 (Link to be added)
> 
> Art by the lovely Silas at https://startracked.tumblr.com/

  


  


Spock tightened the ties at the back of his robe. His side ached with the slightest movement. Dermal regeneration would repair most of the damage done but it did not completely fix nerve endings, which McCoy had proudly announced to be boon. It “left pain so he couldn't possibly mistake himself for being healed.” Spock's torso was black and green with a smattering of mustard dappled up towards his ribs. One last wound from a tiff on their way back to Earth a few days prior.

His room smelled of synthetic cleaning and aluminum. A single set of Starfleet blues lay folded over the foot of his bed, unworn. He didn’t have much in the way of casual clothing. The artifacts he had collected during their mission were gathered together in one box, files and holos in another. Tomorrow night he would be staying at his father’s reserved housing in San Jose, a short ride by hovercar to Starfleet operations.

Spock smoothed his hair back into shape and slipped on a pair of psi-blocker gloves. He had a feeling the crew would be clingy tonight, and for once he didn’t intend to stop them. It was an emotional occasion and he knew to forgive their cultural oversights. McCoy had offered a mild sedative that he had refused, but now he felt he should have accepted. It would probably be overwhelming with the emotions and the music and the mixing and gathering. He was used to the kind of foreign smells and scattered sound that came with the ship or an away mission, but public events held a very different kind of stress. A sedative would’ve at least allowed him to relax a bit, but no. He would not take the easy way out. He was the first officer and he would present himself as such, and he would engage with social situations as his father would expect. It was a good standard to hold himself to, even if the ambassador was not going to be attending the function. Spock closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. He needed to be mentally prepared for this.

“Spock?” the computer on his desk pinged.

“Jim,” he replied.

The captain’s face wavered with a bit of static. “You look good! You ready?”

“Nearly,” he said.

“Great.” Jim grinned. His hair was styled neatly. It even had a bit of a curl in the front. “Scotty just let me know the caterers are here, I’m going to head in a bit early and help him set up. Meet you there? Oh, and you might want to keep your speech on the short side. You know how the crew can be.”

Spock sighed.

  


He arrived exactly on time, expecting most of the guests and crew to arrive late, but even the halls surrounding the observation deck were already bustling. Dress uniforms were scattered amongst civilian wear as crewmembers and their family mingled. Jim looked radiant. He glowed with pride and, to the trained eye, manic exhaustion. A pixie-like Andorian woman was draped over one arm, hanging on every word he said as he illustrated with gesture what must have been a dramatic battle. Pike clapped him on the shoulder in congratulations and gave a quick greeting only to be replaced by another group seeking Jim’s attention. Spock glanced around for a corner to inhabit while he made the obligatory greetings. More unrecognizable faces than he expected passed by. Sulu had a little girl clinging to his waist and Uhura was grinning widely and chatting to an older couple that looked quite a lot like her. McCoy sat alone on the bench at the window, watching the crowd with a small smile. Spock approached him, hoping to share some of the peace of being next to the stars.

  


  


The doctor patted the metal bench next to him. “How's the side, Spock?

"Adequate, doctor."

"Yeah, I'll bet it's black and blue down there. Here," he stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pill wrapped in tight plastic. "Thought one of the two of you might need help getting through the night."

Spock looked at the capsule. "Your efforts from yesterday shall suffice, doctor. Save it for the captain."

"I've got enough for both. Take it, Spock. Vulcan or not, you're not as young as you used to be."

He didn't age at the same rate as his humans, he wanted to protest, but he didn't seem to have the enduring youthful strength of many of his Vulcan peers either. He held out his hand in acquiescence. If nothing else, it would get the doctor to keep quiet.

McCoy smiled, fondness clear in his eyes.

"Admiral Kirk" he said wistfully. "What do you make of that?"

Spock did not want to admit that Kirk's promotion left a turbulent feeling in his stomach. Looking at McCoy, he noticed a thinly veiled anxiety tight across the other man’s shoulders. It wasn’t that they didn’t approve of the promotion. It just felt a bit like an end, and it was apparent that neither of them really knew how to handle the change.

"I do not think," Spock took a thoughtful breath, "that Jim will adjust easily to the position, though I believe he is an appropriate choice for admiralty."

McCoy chuckled. "Any time he stops to breathe I can see him wonderin' if he should've asked for another mission. I can't imagine he's going to take well to paper pushing."

On the other side of the room, Scotty was clapping a misty-eyed Chekov on the shoulder. One of the communications ensigns had graciously offered her band to play at the event, and even Spock had to admit their talent. Booze flowed freely and the atmosphere was at once gleeful and forlorn. Kirk had described it earlier as a mutual breakup. It was true that there were about as many tears. It was over. Five years of nothing but each other and they were moving on to the next stage of their lives. Spock leaned his back against the stars and cool titanium of the docking station outside. The hum of machinery pulsed through his dress robes. Earth floated shockingly close by, and he sank into the realization that this might be the last night he spent in space for some time.

McCoy broke the silence. "You've been offered a research position, right Spock?”

The doctor was drinking possibly the slowest he possibly ever had at an event. He hadn’t bothered to put on a dress uniform, and Spock could hardly blame him. He was sure McCoy was more than pleased to be done with the bureaucracy of Starfleet command. A foot brushed the cuff of his pants and Spock realized he had yet to answer. He had indeed been offered several research positions, one through Starfleet and a number from other organizations. There were other things that had appealed to him as well, though he knew the doctor would strongly object to his interest in pursuing them. He pursed his lips. It was a thought, nothing more. He would do well not to start a fight during Jim’s celebration.

“I have,” he said simply. "And you, doctor? What will you do?"

McCoy laughed into his whiskey glass. “I’m getting myself off this goddamn pile of scrap! I’m going to plant my feet on some good solid ground and stay there for a while. Got a couple offers. A pretty good one from the development committee, too. Looks like they need someone to help them get some candidates trained for off-world settlements.”

“I doubt I am the first one to point out the irony.”

The doctor snickered and raised his glass. “I’ll help them out for long enough for me to figure out what I want to do after that. I was thinking of staying on earth. Joanna is in the academy now and who knows if she’ll be off to a space station in the next couple years.”

A holo of a bright young woman had recently found its way next to the younger versions that were displayed on McCoy’s office wall. Her curls and complexion took after her mother, but the cheeky grin was unmistakably familiar. McCoy would be much happier if he could be closer to his daughter, that much was clear.

“I assume you have warned her of the horrors of intergalactic voyages.”

McCoy snorted. “Please, she hasn’t listened to me a day in her life. She just plows ahead and learns the hard way whether she likes it or not. Sometimes I think she takes after ‘uncle Jim’ more than me.”

Spock shook his head. “This is a quality I believe you and Jim share in equal measure.”

McCoy busied himself with his drink, eyes flicking back to Spock. He seemed peculiar, Spock noted. Ordinarily he would be mingling with the crowd and sharing stories, but he seemed more reserved today. It was worrisome.

“Jim asked me to talk to you,” McCoy started, discomfort clearly visible on his face.

“Did he.”

“About that ritual you were telling him about. He’s pretty worked up about it, you know. I can’t blame him either.”

“The Kolinahr ritual is one option available to me of many.” Spock's expression remained neutral.

A crease appeared between McCoy’s eyebrows and he set down his drink beside him. “Spock, you’re not really considering it are you? Purging yourself of all emotion? No, of course you are, I don’t know what I expected.”

“I had hoped to avoid this discussion,” he said, knowing it was hopeless at this point.

McCoy sighed. “I’m sure you did. We’re having it. I get why you didn’t tell me, but damn, Spock, we’re friends. You can’t just,” he waved his hands, “not tell me you’re contemplating something that big.”

Spock knew he was avoiding the topic, but this was not an avenue of conversation he had been looking forward to. “I did not realize you would have a stake in the argument.”

“Of course I would! Spock. You can’t seriously believe that I wouldn’t care if you…” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look. If it’s still in consideration, then you should give me a fair chance to convince you otherwise. Present my argument so to speak.”

It was clear McCoy had thought this out. He leaned forward, pushed his glass to the side, and rested one of his arms on a knee. Spock felt compelled to lean back at the intensity, but he resisted. He made a quick scope of the room to make sure none of the other crewmembers were listening too closely. Rumors on this subject would not be ideal. The rest of the ship had long learned to give the two of them a wide berth when they were discussing something intently, though, and they had been left alone with their drinks. Fine. It was not unexpected that the captain had divulged this particular information to McCoy. They were friends, after all, and as much as Spock had attempted to convince himself otherwise during the voyage, it was clear McCoy cared.

“I will hear it,” Spock said.

“Good!” the doctor exclaimed. “Let me ask you a question.”

Spock pursed his lips in response. It was beginning to seem more and more like McCoy had rehearsed this.

“Here’s one. Would it be better for Christine and I to be completely emotionless doing our job? Answer honestly, now.”

He blinked and bit back an argument that he was sure would stir up a fuss. As medical professionals, well… a certain amount of emotion was undeniably beneficial in dealing with patients of most races, even Spock had to agree. Not only was it effective in helping a patient pinpoint distress and reduce their discomfort, but it had a use within McCoy as a scientist. The degree to which the doctor felt was so powerful it drove him to damaging lengths, but it gave him energy long past when he should collapse. His denial of failure beyond the influence of logic allowed him to make decisions sometimes resembling miracles.

"No, doctor. I do not believe so. It is your empathy and compassion that drive you to treat the most unlikely cases, and in that they have much value."

McCoy beamed.

“Although,” he continued.

“Nope, I think that’s enough,” McCoy chuckled.

Spock pursed his lips. “Your point, Doctor? I do not believe the crew will give us as much privacy as this conversation requires,” he lied.

Uhura made eye contact with Spock and winked, giving him the uncomfortable impression that she might know exactly what was going on between them. He risked a glance at Jim and was unsurprised to find that his friend was within sight and watching them somewhat obviously while two admirals chatted to each other next to him. Spock appreciated his crew’s concern over his future, but he did not think that they were capable of understanding his interest in Kolinahr from their human perspective. Spock couldn’t turn down a logical argument, though. He would hear it out. After all, if the logic was sounder than his own, he would have to accept it.

McCoy waited until Spock turned back to him, apparently unsatisfied with anything but Spock's full attention.

“Yes. Right. Well, as First Officer on the enterprise, it was your duty to understand the needs of the crew and the other parties we encountered. You had to make judgements knowing that the emotional state of other species influenced their actions and behavior. If you lost access to your connection to emotion, no matter how small it might be, it would put you at a disadvantage in leadership roles.”

McCoy took a pause for emphasis. He sipped his whiskey and set it down with a clink to make sure Spock was still listening.

“In fact,” he continued, “I’d go so far as to say that there’s a reason your father never completed the ritual himself. As a diplomat, he had to have a baseline connection with the way emotional species thought in order to establish any sort of trust and understanding. I don’t know what you want to do after this in terms of a career, but if you plan on doing any more exploration or communication outside of Vulcan, you ought to think of how this might change your effectiveness.”

Spock stared. “That is…”

McCoy leaned forward with a gasp. “Ha! You were going to say logical, weren’t you?”

“That is something to consider,” he corrected.

That seemed to be victory enough for McCoy. He knocked Spock's knee with his own and grinned. “Good.”

The bright sound of metal on glass rang out over the crowd. Jim stood on a prepared set of stairs, a wine glass and fork in his hand. The chatter stilled to a quiet murmur, and Spock didn’t have much more time to consider the matter that night.

  


  


This was far from their last attempt, he realized two days later as Jim appeared on his apartment doorstep. He was in professional clothes. Spock wasn’t aware he owned any of those. He had only ever seen his friend in a Starfleet uniform or flannels and tattered band shirts. Much more concerning was the conniving grin.

“Morning, Spock! I don’t suppose you’re free?”

Spock was free. Jim would likely have known this. It was clear this was less of an invitation than an inevitability. Spock realized he was getting in the habit of sighing lately as he opened the door.

“Jim. Tea?”

Kirk didn’t enter. He stood outside with an infuriatingly unreadable grin. “No, no. We don’t have much time, actually, I’m running a bit late. Get into something nice, Bones is going to meet us at the shuttle. He’s going to hate this, but you know how he is.”

Spock wanted to say that no, he didn’t know how McCoy was because he had no idea what Jim was referring to, but he didn’t.

“Is this another stage of yours and the doctor’s attempt at an argument?”

“Partially, but more of a surprise. You won’t regret it, I promise. Oh, and pack a couple bags, too. We might be a few days. Don’t worry, I’ve cleared all our schedules.” Jim shrugged nonchalantly.

  


This was how he found stepping off of a sleek Trill high-speed transport ship three days later, his robes in disarray and legs aching from days of rather cramped quarters. Uhura, who he had been surprised to see tagging along, helped herself out of the door using him as a staircase. McCoy came later, and she offered him a polite hand, which he accepted with a grin. All of them seemed to know where they were going except Spock, which he would not admit irritated him to no end. All he had been able to get out of Jim was “you’ll find out when you get there.”

Jim stretched his arms above his back, twisting with a pop and a satisfied sigh. “Ah, finally!”

It was a small room, nothing more than a transporter pad in the space station they had docked at. The station by itself was more or less unremarkable, but the unknown destination was sure to be the surprise Jim had in mind. McCoy stared at it apprehensively, and for once he and Spock were in agreement.

“Go on through,” Uhura urged, poking them in the back with the tip of her nails.

“Ow,” McCoy complained.

Spock did as she requested. He was the first to step forward. The pale white circle illuminated around his feet and he appeared in a wide room, hundreds of similar transportation pads lined up along a walkway. Figures with a familiar spotted pattern around the sides of their face materialized and filtered through a bold archway. He stepped off of his transportation platform, felt more than saw Jim appear behind him, and heard the telltale swearing of McCoy. Uhura gasped as she came through. A large, spherical space station towered overhead; four enormous atriums were visible even from their location at transporter gates. As he walked a bit closer, a suspended sign read “Trill Science Ministry”. He was not even ashamed when he felt his heart leap.

“Jim, is this…?”

It was Uhura who answered. She looped her arm through is his and when she spoke it was with awe. “The Intergalactic Translation Archives.”

“I brought you here because I knew you would like it,” Jim said, watching Spock's expression with a smile. “I had to call in a couple of favors, but I have enough of those to go around.”

“Incredible,” Spock said.

This was the true universal translator. It was more than their little machines would be able to comprehend in a thousand years. This facility and its parts translated concept, abstract thought, art, and every artifact and oral history in every language ever spoken or written. It was the library of Alexandria of the modern age. To be here was something he could only have dreamed of. They didn’t let just anyone wander the halls, and the research requests were probably booked out for eternity. Whatever favors Jim pulled must’ve been enormous. A perk of being an Admiral, perhaps.

“They’ve got every book ever written here,” Uhura said quietly. “I could spend a lifetime looking through them and not even get through Earth.”

“I guess we have to choose carefully, then,” McCoy said. “I got clearance to go through some medical journals. I’ll meet up with you all later.”

Uhura rolled up her sleeves. “And I,” she said, “am going to learn Denobulan.”

Jim nodded and gave her a wave. “Give me a shout when you both want to get dinner,” he said. “What about you, Spock? What do you want to research?”

“I would have much preferred that you had given me more time to decide,” he said.

“But that would have ruined the surprise!” Jim grinned. “Well, I’m going to visit an old friend. I’ll bug you in a bit.”

Spock was left alone at the entrance to the largest archives in the known universe. How on earth was he supposed to decide what to research out of everything in existence?

  


“Spock.”

Spock attempted to tear himself away from schematics of the earliest known AI with great difficulty. It was over 30,000 earth years old and labeled in a language he couldn’t begin to understand. The archivist notes mentioned that it may have been self-aware, but studies had not yet been conducted attempting to replicate it nor were the materials to do so currently accessible. A three-dimensional replica holo of an empty metal shell with rotted tubing was displayed next to the information, rotating slowly.

“Hey, you in there?” Jim knocked his elbow against Spock's shoulder.

“Yes, cap—admiral. I was reading.”

Jim leaned up against a column of fine glass tubes with his arms crossed, eyes smiling lightly. “Got really into it, did you? What made you choose this section of the archives?”

“I found it interesting,” Spock said simply, still not tearing his eyes away from the data analysis. “This information must be highly valuable to Starfleet, but it does not appear to be connected to any ongoing investigations.”

“Starfleet could spend the next hundred years trying to hunt down everything they found interesting in here,” Jim said. “We might be a big organization, but we just don’t have enough scientists or funds to go over everything we find compelling, you know? Besides, Starfleet is more interested in combat science at the moment, what with the Klingon empire being what it is.”

“Understandable,” Spock conceded, “but it is…disappointing to leave this as it is.”

His friend joined him at the display counter, watching the tiny model of the machine rotating in the air. “It is, isn’t it? Androids over thirty thousand years old beyond anything the Federation has been able to come up with since. We’ve seen our share of strange things on our mission, but…imagine. I suppose our nerve synapses aren’t all that different than wiring and machinery could be, huh?”

“Indeed,” Spock said softly.

“You know,” Jim paused, “one of the things I admire the most about you is your thirst for knowledge. You have the sharpest mind of all of us and not just in terms of method and research. You search for what you do not know. You’re curious.”

“Jim…”

“We know more about our universe, about ourselves, because of the discoveries you’ve made. Curiosity is the only emotion that I haven’t seen you shy away from. You accepted it as part of yourself because you found it to be helpful. Am I right?”

Spock didn’t answer.

Jim pressed on. “I don’t mean to take away from your enjoyment of this place, but I can’t sit by quietly, I know you understand. I am your friend. I will support you through anything that you choose to do, even if it pains me to see you do it. But I will not sit by while you make a permanent decision because you are afraid.”

Spock's mouth felt dry. He took a breath. “What, Jim, do you think I am afraid of?”

A look of challenge settled on his friend’s face. It was very familiar. “Yourself. Of never really fitting in, of never being completely understood. Of having emotion that you’ve been told you should not have. I think you’re afraid to be afraid, Spock, or to care too much. You can deny it. I’m no telepath, but I know you. Just think on it. Whatever decision, I’ll be there.”

Spock opened his mouth to deny these accusations, but he couldn’t. The part of himself that valued honesty above all shouted at him. He could not speak without properly thinking on these words. They came from his best friend, after all. Even if Jim was wrong, it would be hurtful to their friendship to brush away his words without proper analysis. And if Jim was right…well. Fear was shameful, but it was persistent. No matter how far Spock tucked it away, there was still a bit of it that trickled out into his conscious mind. Fear for the safety of his crew. Fear of disappointing his father. Fear of emotion and what havoc it would wreak. If Jim was right, if he was making a decision based on an emotional compulsion, it would be grievously inappropriate to pursue the ritual. Following the path Kolinahr out of fear rather than out of true desire for serenity and enlightenment would be not only illogical, but an insult to the thousands of years of tradition that surrounded it.

Of course he was right. Jim knew him better than Spock knew himself. Their friendship had always been more intuitive than logical. There was no one Spock would trust to tell him when he was wrong more than James Kirk.

“Jim,” he said quietly, “I do not know what I should do.”

  


“I don’t know how I can fit this into just a few classes,” McCoy explained, flipping through a pages-long list on his PADD. “This should be an entire declaration of study. I can’t in good faith send these kids off to space after two semesters.”

Spock took the PADD from him and scrolled through the list. “Many of these events are highly unlikely to occur.”

“But what if they do happen? They’ve got to know what they’re supposed to do.”

The bench was damp with condensation from the humidity of the greenhouse. It sank into the fabric of Spock's pants.

“I agree that they must have options for every available scenario,” he said, “but perhaps not taught in a classroom setting. They look to you for the basics of off world treatment. After they arrive at their colonies, neither they nor you can predict the events that will follow. In this case, I believe a strong foundation is more important than analysis of every possible circumstance. Perhaps Vulcan students could retain that much information, but not human ones.”

McCoy grumbled. “Rare to hear you dunking on the specifics.”

“I suggest you present the materials in a different format. Perhaps a collection of documents and reports from all known circumstances that they can access at any time during their service, including after settlement.” Spock stood, brushing a few fallen leaves from his pants. “Shall we walk?”

“Mmmm.” McCoy was silent, typing furiously, but he stood. “That’s a good idea. A new database specifically for frontier medicine. Existing colonies could use it if they needed, too. Damn, Spock, that’s a good idea.”

Spock allowed himself to preen. He led McCoy through the greenhouse, admiring the architecture. Circular glass windows hovered above them like moons, diffusing light over the draping fronds of native Terran flora. The Osher Rainforest hadn’t changed much since he was a child. In fact, it hadn’t changed much in the last hundred or so years. The technology had been improved, of course, but the advancements always paid an aesthetic tribute to the original design. Spock led McCoy down one of the river-like pathways. A fabricated waterfall trickled into a small pond to the left of them, almost completely obscured by ferns. Birdsong drowned out any conversation that was being had on other routes. In their short time back on Earth, McCoy’s complexion had darkened to a slight tan. The lines in his skin had seemed to fade slightly, save for the crease between his eyebrows as he plotted the demise of his future students. Spock wondered when he had the time to be out in the sun. Maybe years on a spaceship really took a toll on his health.

Spock cleared his throat. “I have been granted a leave of absence. My mother is aging, as you know.”

At this, McCoy looked up from his work. “Is she alright?” he asked. “I can refer her to a specialist if she needs it.”

“Thank you, doctor. She is in good health, but I have no illusions about how long that might last.”

McCoy nodded in understanding. “That’s good, Spock. You should spend as much time with her as you can.” He looked to the false-cobblestone pathway, concern written plainly over his face. “Are you going to…you know?” McCoy made an obscure gesture over his head.

“No,” Spock said with some confidence, “I am not.”

“Really?”

McCoy’s expression of disbelief didn’t waver. Spock wondered how he could’ve misread this man for so long at the beginning of their mission. To mistake passion for animosity must have been the mistake of someone vastly unfamiliar with the subtleties of emotion. He shook his head silently at the irony. All this time and he had no idea how much better he was able to communicate with his crew due to a simple biological “leftover.”

“I have decided,” he told the doctor, “that in suppressing all emotion, I would be overlooking some of the benefits which it has brought me.” He would not mention the fear that had infiltrated his mind without him realizing. A mental tutor would be required. His father had recommended someone, a Vulcan who had spent some time with Betazoid scientists. Hopefully she could provide Spock with the tools to better manage his emotion.

McCoy smirked. “Benefits? Spock, are you ill?”

“I am in perfectly good health.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

They walked further, the humidity of the tropical area fading as the trees were replaced with shrubs and flowers. It smelled lightly of citrus.

“I suppose we won’t be seeing each other for a while,” McCoy said softly.

“Yes. It will be a deviation from the Enterprise. However, I would extend the same invitation I did to Jim: you are welcome to visit at any time.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” the doctor said, his eyes downcast towards the ferns and moss next to the pathway, “I know how Vulcan can be about foreigners. And besides, you’re there to spend time with family. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Doctor,” he said, stopping his friend with a light touch. “You would not be an intrusion. I would like you to come.”

“Oh. Well. Alright. I guess when you put it like that.”

“I hesitate to encourage you meeting my mother, however.”

“Oh.”

“The two of you have no reservations about sharing tales. My father and my reputations might suffer.”

McCoy’s serious expression fell away as a mischievous and delighted smile took its place. “Oh, yes. I didn’t get nearly as much out of her last time I saw her as I would have liked to. This will be great.”

He didn’t notice that the doctor had fallen behind him until he felt the absence of human warmth at his side. McCoy had stopped walking, his fingers tracing along the veins of a large blue leaf.

“In all honesty, Spock,” McCoy said, “I’ve been trying to put off thinking about what we are going to do next as much as I could. You had me worried, you know. I don’t know what I…well. I would’ve missed you.”

Spock walked back to where McCoy had stopped to consider his words. It was rare for the doctor to allow a vulnerability like this to slip through. As careful as Spock himself was to put on a front of his own, McCoy wasn’t much better. But they were getting older now. Spock was done with wasted time.

He reached out to McCoy and squeezed his shoulder lightly. “I will not disappear. I promise you that.”

The doctor reached up to Spock's hand. He opened his mouth to say something but apparently thought better of it and settled for giving the hand a light squeeze.

Jim was right. In all honestly, Jim was rarely wrong, but they could never tell him or risk an even further inflated ego. But he was right, and this time Spock was glad of it. He had been acting out of fear. It was a primal fear, something he had carried with him from childhood so ingrained in himself that he neglected to question it. By the time he realized it was there, the need for it had passed. He would not need to fear belonging again. If there was not a place for someone like him already set in Vulcan, he would make one. With recent advancements and increase in trade and travel, he highly doubted he would be the last half-Vulcan to exist. And if that was impossible, if the tradition of Vulcan was too solid, he had all the belonging he would need in the people that truly cared about him.

He wouldn’t be afraid of companionship anymore.

“I assume the same is offered to me when you find a planet to assist,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“I will come visit you as well, if you will have me.”

The lines at McCoy’s eyes deepened with his smile. “You’d better,” he said. “I’ll hold you to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This may be the last time you see me post in the fandom. I've got to put all my energy and time into becoming an artist for realsies and if I do contribute again, it won't be for quite a while. I thank you all for the love and support you have given me through the years. I will be sure to visit and take a look at all the lovely things you create while I am gone :)
> 
> I guess you could say I left with a big bang...LOL
> 
> If you want to see what I am up to irl (I hope to do some sci fi sculpture in the future) you can come say hi on my instagram @dmoore9x


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